Friday leaps through the window
curtains swing to the swish of the sea.
Spirit sparkling, dizzy for your return
I wait for your call, scanning the dawn.
Church bells chime down the hillside,
the village stirs under a honeysuckle sky.
A lemon field sleeps beneath the mountains,
plum purple with wild scented heather.
Life peeps from geranium doorways
as the blush of our weekend beckons.
Love burns red as a mid-summer rose
until Sunday sobs through the window.
And we yearn for Friday to leap again.